


My Only Virtue

by Kangofu_CB



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Romance, romantic sex, seriously this is the softest thing I've ever written, that's it that's the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:42:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26001349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kangofu_CB/pseuds/Kangofu_CB
Summary: James just wants to take care of Clint in whatever way he'll let him. Sometimes that involves his dick.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 66
Kudos: 280





	My Only Virtue

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little palette cleanser between some longer works that aren't quite ready to be posted. I ship Clint and Bucky with happiness, and also sex. So. Have some happiness and sex. 
> 
> This is a stand-alone that could be read into a number of universes, there's no backstory we die like men.

They’ve been doing this for years. For years and years, for almost as many years as James’ life has mattered, has been his own again. For so many years that he knows exactly what the hitched, hiccupping breaths Clint is taking and the shift of muscles in his back mean. 

“What do you need?” James murmurs, leaning to scrape his teeth across Clint’s scapula, following it with a swipe of his tongue that’s salty with the taste of Clint’s skin. 

Clint shakes his head, like he can’t form words to answer, and James presses harder on his wrists, probably bruising the pale skin there, not that either of them care. Clint _likes_ the bruises, tangible evidence that James is real and present and in his life, and so James made peace with them years ago. 

They’re mostly hidden under his braces, when he’s working, and no one questions a few extra bruises when the bruises are found on Clint Barton. 

James shifts, using his knees to knock Clint’s thighs a little further apart, pressing even more of his weight onto his chest, and Clint groans like he’s _dying_ as the angle changes. 

“That,” he slurs, squirming, and James rolls his hips in a deep, filthy grind. “Need that,” he gasps out, and his spine arches, bending in a way that’s positively _obscene_ , and James commits the sight to memory alongside a hundred other near-identical moments in time, stretching back almost as far as he can reliably recall. 

James gets to _keep_ memories, now. 

It took them - according to Natasha - a very long time to get here. A sickening amount of pining, or so she’d claimed, but the end result is more than worth it. There’s an intimacy to their relationship that could only have been built from the ground up, could only have come to exist through the gradual increase in trust and care, in _love_. 

Clint isn’t much for that word - love - like he’s a little afraid of it. Like he’s waiting for the unspoken _but_ that’s going to come after.

James gets it. He knows there’s been a lot in Clint’s past, people who claimed to love him and hurt him in the worst kinds of ways. So he doesn’t use the word much, and James tries to _show_ instead of _tell_. 

Today he’s showing in the slow, inexorable movement of his hips, in the press of his mouth to bare skin, in the slow climb to orgasm that he’s pushing them both towards. 

James has never been loved like Clint loves him - or if he has he’s long forgotten and doesn’t miss the memories anyway - the kind of love that is fiercely protective, deeply devoted. The kind that keeps James safe and protected but allows him the space to grow into whatever kind of man he wants to be. 

James had seventy years of whatever the opposite of love is - and it’s not hate, he thinks it might be indifference, might be a complete lack of compassion or empathy - and now he gets to have this. 

He gets to have Clint panting underneath him as he lets James take him apart in every way and put him back together afterwards. He gets to have complete trust, gets to _give_ that same trust and affection back, regardless of who’s playing which role at any given time. This time, Clint has stumbled home bruised and battered and bone-tired, and all James wants to do is take care of him the way he deserves. 

“Better?” he asks, still low, still affectionate. 

“‘S’all good,” Clint manages, somewhere between a moan and a whisper. 

“I’m aiming for somewhere above ‘good’, sweetheart,” James says, amusement bubbling up under the lust, and he _thrusts_ this time, punching something gasping and incoherent out of Clint’s throat. 

He continues, the movement of his hips slow and relentless, pulling more shuddering sobs and choked-off moans from the man beneath him, until sweat is beading on both their bodies and Clint is trembling under his fingertips. He lets go of Clint’s wrists, tugs him up until he’s writhing in James’ lap, his back pressed to James’ chest, James’ cock so deep inside him even James can barely breathe. 

Clint is flushed and panting, his fingers twitching as he shifts, rocking his hips gently like he can’t help it. He doesn’t touch himself, reaches back to thread his fingers into James’ hair instead and turns his head blindly, searching for James’ mouth. 

The kiss is sloppy. The angle is bad and Clint is taller than James anyway, but that doesn’t stop them, Clint biting at his lips and James running a soothing hand up his side, like there’s anything soothing about this. James flexes his thighs and Clint moans, rocking to meet him. 

“There you go,” James says, hushed and almost reverent. “Is that what you need?”

“Just need you,” Clint mumbles into the side of his face, his breath hot and sticky, and James kisses the words almost out of his mouth. 

“You’ve got me.”

Clint’s grip tightens in his hair as he arches, trying to take James impossibly deeper. His fingers are digging into his own leg, white-knuckled, and James takes his hand, twining their hands together. 

“You’ve got me,” James says again, as he finally seems to match whatever unconscious rhythm it is that Clint’s adopted, forcing small sounds out of his throat. 

He’s beautiful like this, flushed halfway down his chest with his nipples pebbled up and his entire body working towards his own pleasure. His cock is straining, bobbing with every flex of his thighs, and James wants to put his mouth everywhere. All the obvious places and the hidden ones too, the small, private spots that only he has bothered to take the time to find. The backs of Clint’s knees and the spot below his left ankle, and the inside of his bicep, all places where a scrape of teeth or a gentle bite will get a reaction. Wide-eyed and astonished, usually, like Clint’s always surprised himself that those places exist. 

There will be time for that later, though. Clint’s home for a few weeks, anyway, and this is only the first day. There will be plenty of time for wide-eyed astonishment and tortuous pleasure on both their parts. 

James drags his free hand over the parts of Clint’s body he can reach. He tweaks a nipple and Clint sucks in a sharp breath. He drags his nails across the bare skin of his stomach and Clint whines. He bypasses Clint’s cock entirely to reach lower, to trail teasing fingers over his balls to make Clint jerk, and then even lower, where he can run his fingers around Clint’s stretched and sensitive rim, can feel himself pushing inside. 

“I missed you,” he says, roughly, pretending it’s arousal that makes the words hard to force out. 

“Missed this, you mean,” Clint groans, half-laughing as he clenches and James sees stars. 

James thinks about correcting the underlying cynicism, but decides there’s time for that later too. 

“It’s an undeniable perk,” he admits instead, breathless, and presses against where they’re joined like he’s going to push his fingers in with his cock, stretch Clint just that little bit further, and Clint comes with a shout all over both of them, his entire body seizing up almost violently as his head falls back against James’ shoulder. 

“Oh, fuck,” he manages, loose-limbed and sated in James’ arms. 

James presses a kiss that’s almost devout between his neck and shoulders. He’s still rock-hard, holding himself still and patient despite the heat that’s burning in his gut. 

Clint rolls his hips, then shudders with oversensitivity, a small whine making its way out of his throat. 

Easing out, James arranges him back on the bed, Clint’s whole body lax with satisfaction and pleasure, covered in his own come. James can see his face now, sleepy but a little wicked, his mouth curving up in a satisfied smirk as he looks James over. 

James is nearly as much of a wreck as Clint is. He’s sweating and his hair is a riot - he can see the escaped strands out of the corner of his eye, and his cock is throbbing in time with his heart and slick with lube. He’s still got Clint’s come on his wrist.

“ _You’re beautiful_ ,” he says in one of the few languages that Clint doesn’t speak, but Clint rolls his eyes anyway because even if the words don’t translate, the tone does. 

“Sap,” Clint tells him fondly. 

Leaning down, James gets his first proper kiss in too long. It’s been at least ten agonizing minutes since their mouths have been pressed together, hasn’t it? Clint tastes lazy and satisfied, meeting James’ kiss but not desperate the way James feels right now. His hand comes up to cup James’ jaw and they pause like that, just for a moment, mouths pressed together and breathing the same air. 

And then Clint bites his lip hard enough for pain to shoot down James’ spine and arousal to wind hot and tight in his gut. 

He’s smiling when James sits up again, straddling his thighs. He reaches for James’ cock, but James nudges his hand away, letting it fall loosely to the side. 

“I’m- let me,” he says, and it’s almost a plea but not quite. He just wants to look at Clint, to take in the sight of him relaxed and happy and know that he did that, he made Clint feel that way, and he can take care of himself with just the sight of Clint under him and the taste of Clint on his tongue. 

James strips his cock ruthlessly, all the patience he’d had for Clint evaporated in the wake of chasing his own orgasm, of marking Clint up and making him even messier. 

Clint slides his hands up and down James’ thighs, just as soothing as his own hands had been on Clint’s side just a little while ago, probably. He can feel the tension building in his back and chest as he works himself closer and closer to orgasm. 

“I missed you too,” Clint says, crooked and fond and a dozen other warm emotions written on his face, and James comes with a gasp and his eyes locked on that familiar, welcoming expression.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Steph for screaming and beta reading on the fly. Love you babe.


End file.
